


Once Again

by flonkertons



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cohabitation, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 01:36:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9213494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flonkertons/pseuds/flonkertons
Summary: Five times Bellamy and Clarke disagreed with each other (and one time they didn't).





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, the premise was "Bellamy and Clarke living together" but then it just devolved into some whole 8k thing. Writing canonverse is still the worst thing in the world. 
> 
> afljen;gaoijsf this is really bad

**I.**

The living together thing happened partly because of necessity and partly because she liked the idea of being able to step out of her room and find Bellamy sitting in the tiny space they called their living room, especially when she was worried and just wanted to sit with him, or if she had a nightmare and he was the only one who could ever make it a little better, or really, just whenever she wanted his company.

Bellamy had the room opposite hers and their apartment (for lack of a better term) was one that families shared back when the Ark was still the Ark and not a settlement crash landed on Earth. It had been an easy decision, with only the momentary awkwardness of asking each other to move in, but it was practically an inevitability once they came back to camp.

She assumed that it would be easy to live with him because they had done it before, back at the dropship, even if that had been a different arrangement and she wasn't really living _with_ him, in the same _space_ (but really, how different could it be), but mostly, it was easy because they only saw each other every other week because Bellamy was always out on trips to other Grounder clans while she was stuck attending meetings with Grounder delegates in an attempt to figure out some way out of this nuclear destruction thing. Clarke hadn't seen him in six days – not that she was counting – when he had made her breakfast and said a hasty goodbye all in the ten minutes she had been awake.

Their mismatched schedules was why it caught her off guard when she came out of the bathroom and found Bellamy sitting at the table, instead of where she expected him to be, namely in the Rover with Miller, Bryan, Harper, and Monty on the way to the Ice Nation.

"Oh," she said, her hand going to her just washed hair. Clarke took a moment to be thankful that she was dressed. "You're not supposed to be here."

He looked up from his map and his mouth quirked into a small, lazy smile. "I live here."

"You know what I mean. You weren't supposed to be back for another few days." Still, she couldn't be _upset_ about seeing him. She hated it when he was gone and now that he was here, she felt settled again.

"Our plans changed."

She felt a headache coming as she sat down and demanded, "What happened?"

"Nothing happened."

"Bellamy."

"That's just it. Nothing happened. They wouldn't let us in and Roan refused to see us."

"That makes no sense," she said, brow furrowing. "Our talks were going well. We just saw Roan a month ago."

"We stood in front of the gate arguing with their guards for an hour. And then Roan came down and had them pretty much _move_ us off their land."

"That's it?"

"And then we tried again and we kind of got the message after the arrows came flying at us." Bellamy had an unnatural ability to deliver bad news in reassuring ways, but even his slight shrug wasn't enough to soothe her.

"Are you hurt?" Her eyes roamed over his body, trying to spot any bleeding or slipshod bandaging that he was trying to hide from her. Bellamy laid his hand on her arm to stop her.

"I'm fine," he said, but she must've looked skeptical because he repeated himself. "I'm fine. Bryan had an arrow graze his leg, but he's going to be okay."

She slumped against the chair. "If we don't have the Ice Nation on our side, we have – nothing."

"We have us," Bellamy said, sounding annoyed.

"We're not enough," she said, already tired of the same argument they had had for five weeks now.

"I understand we might need the numbers, but it's not something that is critical to our plans–"

"It's not just the numbers–"

"We have information about how the original Grounders survived already–"

"Just because it's not absolutely necessary doesn't mean it won't make it easier!"

"Since when have things ever been easy for us?"

Both of them fell silent after that, Bellamy's gaze challenging as she crossed her arms. Each iteration of this argument had gone the same way.

"I just want things to be a little easier," she said.

"I know."

"I just want one thing to go right."

"I know."

She rested her arms on the table and sullenly laid her head down. "I just–"

"We'll get the Ice Nation back." He was firm, and certain, and promising, and Bellamy always had an ability to make her believe him, no matter what happened. "Maybe we should kidnap him."

She gave him a wary look. "We can't kidnap the king of the Ice Nation."

"Just wait for him outside the gates and drag him away."

"The problem with this suggestion is that I'm not sure how much of it is _not_ a joke for you."

"Sorry, I can't hear you over the fact that he stabbed me."

"And you shot him! I thought you were good after that."

"It's not something you get over, Clarke."

"You can't shoot him again." As an afterthought: "Or kidnap him."

"Unless absolutely necessary."

"Ever."

He laughed and somehow, in between the days she hadn't seen him, she had forgotten it was her favorite sound in the world. "Have you eaten?"

"No."

Bellamy sighed, pulled himself up with exaggerated effort, and walked around her, his hand grazing the ends of her wet hair as he passed. The slight breeze of air made her shiver as she followed his movement.

"Good thing I'm back then."

"Yeah. Good thing."

***

**II.**

Indra wasn't visiting on behalf of her clan, but rather to talk to Bellamy. Clarke found out because she had run into Bryan and Miller on her way to a (very, very, very late) debriefing session with her mom.

She was almost out of breath by the time she backtracked to stop the pair, which was a little embarrassing. "Can you find Bellamy and tell him if I'm not back in ten minutes, he should go on ahead with the group meeting?"

"He postponed it for later tonight," Miller said, confused.

"What? Why?"

"He's meeting with Indra right now."

"Indra's _here_? Where?"

Bryan gestured behind them. "The smaller council room."

With a quick thank you, she turned around and headed toward the room in question. She was curious now, about why Indra was here, why Bellamy was meeting with her, and why no one had told her about it. Her mom could wait. Besides, she had already missed part of it already, so it was really unnecessary at this point.

She opened the door as quietly as she could, slipping inside with practiced ease, catching the end of something Indra was saying. "–what they're calling her." Bellamy was clearly tense, his shoulders set, his arms crossed, and when he glanced over, he frowned before nodding at her.

"Clarke," Indra greeted, not sounding particularly enthused or disgruntled.

"Indra," she said. "Am I interrupting anything? I can leave if –"

"Indra was telling me about Octavia," Bellamy cut in, stiffly. "Apparently she has a nice new name too." She came closer, hesitantly put her hand on his back and felt him relax.

To be honest, she hadn't actually thought about Octavia since she had stormed out of Polis, just a few steps ahead of the Ark's contingent (it had made for an especially awkward journey down). It didn't help that Bellamy hadn't mentioned her in the past two months, although Clarke knew he was always thinking about her, and worrying about her, and trying to pick up signs about where she had gone. She tried to, sometimes, in her own meetings, but it wasn't often that they ever got onto the subject of a runaway girl who was doing who-knows-what while everyone else was facing nuclear catastrophe.

It was hard to summon up sympathy once she had found out what Octavia had done to Bellamy, a story he'd quietly shared one late night.

"You know where she is?" She asked.

"I know where's she's been," Indra clarified. "I don't know where she'll go next."

"What's she –" Clarke looked up at Bellamy, who was staring ahead, almost distantly and detached, if not for the muscle in his jaw. She cleared her throat. "Is she okay?"

"She hasn't been killed." Indra paused. "Yet."

Bellamy shifted. "You have to have some idea of where she'll go next. Who – who will want –"

"She goes to whoever pays her for the job."

"I'm sorry," Clarke said. "What… job?"

Bellamy was saved from answering by Indra. "She's a mercenary. Other clans use her to hunt down and punish their traitors."

"She's –" Clarke began, unsure of how to even _process_ this information. Her head whipped back and forth between Bellamy and Indra, as if one of them would tell her it was a joke. Bellamy clearly wanted it to be something different too, as he exhaled and began pacing around the room, muttering to himself. She watched him for a few seconds before walking up to Indra, leaning in helplessly. "She's… _seventeen_. Why would they use _her_?"

"Are you much older than her, _Wanheda_?"

She recoiled. There was a point when she had become desensitized to the name, but after being away from it for a while, after thinking about it for even longer, she had remembered how much she had hated it. She remembered the way Bellamy threw it at her, like a poisoned weapon and not a revered title. Recovering slightly, she said, "That's different. Octavia doesn't understand how _hard_ these decisions are – she's going to get herself killed and –" _Bellamy will never forgive himself_ , she thought, but refrained from voicing it. "You haven't tried to stop her?"

Indra let out something akin to a snort. "Why should I? She is living up to her potential."

"By _killing_ people?"

There was a slam behind her and she whirled around to find Bellamy gone. Clarke sighed and rubbed her face. "You didn't have to tell him."

"Why should he remain ignorant of his sister's actions?"

" _Because_ ," she snapped, stopping there. Anything she wanted to say would sound stupid to Indra, who didn't understand Bellamy and how he would blame himself for even the slightest wrong Octavia did, or even Clarke's own need to protect him.

Indra appraised her. "He's going to try to find her."

"You said you didn't know where she is."

"Do you think that will stop him?"

"I guess not."

"If that's all, I'll take my leave now." Indra left quickly, which left Clarke alone in the room, staring at the wall for a few minutes. She found Bellamy in their apartment, packing – or whatever passed as packing when he only had one change of clothes.

"I don't think you should go," Clarke said.

Bellamy paused, but didn't turn to look at her. "I need to go."

"You don't know _where_ to go."

"I'll retrace her steps and –"

"You'll get killed!"

"She'll get killed!" He had stopped his pretense of packing now and was facing her, frustration in every line of his face. "I can't let that happen."

"This is a bad idea."

"Got any good ones?"

"Don't go."

"Clarke."

This wasn't going anywhere except in circles. She tried a new strategy. "Okay, let's say you find her. What if she doesn't want to come back?"

"I'll convince her." If it was anyone else in question, Clarke would've believed him, but she knew Octavia wouldn't listen to reason, especially if Bellamy was involved.

"If she's going to all this trouble to… not be found, she doesn't want to be found," she tried, a pleading note in her voice. "Maybe you should give her time."

Bellamy scoffed. "Speaking from experience," he said, eyes hard and dark as the comment landed.

"That's not fair," she said, a little defensively. "You know it's not the same." Apart from their solitary journeys, it wasn't the same. She hadn't left for revenge, for one thing, and –

"Maybe not," he conceded, before shaking his head in resignation. "I can't just... sit here and pretend it'll all be okay, Clarke. Especially not with the end of the world happening any day now."

"Indra can tell her."

"It has to be me."

"It doesn't. Indra knows more about where she's been and what she's been doing and the _land_ than you do and you know she cares about her too so –"

"It has to be me!" Bellamy nearly shouted. The volume he had achieved seemed to startle him as well; he averted his eyes from hers and shrank in both stature and voice. "It's my fault so – it has to be – me."

"Bellamy," she started, softly. "It's not your fault."

He didn't reply, but obviously wasn't convinced. She tried again. "This is _not_ on you. You had nothing to do with whatever she's doing now."

A grunt of disagreement. "This _isn't_ your responsibility," she stressed fiercely, tugging on the sleeve of his jacket to get him to focus on her again, to listen to her and _believe_ her. Except – how could she get him to believe something he would never let himself believe in the first place? "The things she's done are _her_ mistakes. Not yours. You didn't make her kill Pike –" (a sharp intake of breath), "You're not forcing her to become some kind of… what is it, assassin? So it's –"

"If I hadn't killed all those Grounders, she wouldn't be doing – _this_ now," he said, his voice thick and catching towards the end.

She played with his sleeve before responding. "That's really presumptive of you," she said lightly.

"I'm sorry?"

"Her actions are her actions. I know you're persuasive but that doesn't apply here."

He didn't say anything. Maybe he didn't know what to say. Maybe he believed her. She doubted it was the last one, but she still hoped. Finally, after what seemed like a long while, he said, "I have to go. I have to try." Clarke could tell by the way he said this, with a mix of apology and certainty, that she wouldn't be able to change his mind. The disappointment stung.

"I don't…" ( _want you to get hurt_ , was what she wanted to say), "Want you to get your hopes up," was what she ended up saying. He could probably infer her original intention from that anyways. "If you go and you can't find her, or she doesn't want to come back…"

"I can handle it."

She smiled at that, a small, weak smile. "You know you don't need to convince me of that. And you don't need my approval or anything. I'm just worried."

"You don't have to worry about me."

"Too late," she retorted. Then, hesitant, as if he was debating with himself whether this was a mistake or not, he held his arms open, just slightly, but all the same, Clarke shuffled closer until she was hugging him, her arms wrapped around his back, her face tucked into his shoulder. She felt a familiar fluttering and didn't know she was holding her breath until Bellamy had pressed his cheek against the side of her head, every breath blowing air across the top of her ear.

"I'll be fine," he said quietly.

"You can't promise that." It came out muffled as she squeezed him a little tighter.

"I'll be back in a week, with or without Octavia." _A week?_ Fear gripped her heart, fear and something like the anxiety she felt whenever she hadn't seen Bellamy in a while.

"A week?"

"I'm bringing a radio and I'll check in every day."

Clarke frowned into his shoulder. It would be selfish – and pointless – to go through the same fight again, not when she knew it would end up the same, and that she had no right to stop him because she didn't want to not see him for a week. "Okay, but you _have_ to check in. And take two radios. And Miller."

"You're worrying again," he admonished, but he sounded a little happy about it.

"Someone _should_ worry about you."

Bellamy was quiet. Then, "I'm glad it's you."

***

**III.**

Bellamy was distracted. Ever since he had returned (after four days, not the week he had said), he had been on the move, doing anything and everything that needed to be done. Clarke knew it was because his trip hadn't gone well – he hadn't said anything to her about it, which was a big clue, and the most Miller had been willing to tell (she was simultaneously glad and frustrated with his loyalty to Bellamy) was that they had been able to find Octavia – and he didn't want to dwell on it. But that meant she hadn't been able to sit down with him and actually _talk_ to him and it was bothering her more than she wanted to admit.

So she came up with a plan.

The moment she heard the door open, she knew she had a small window of opportunity. He had taken to slipping in and out of the apartment, as if staying any longer than five minutes would mean an interrogation. This instance excluded (and she wasn't about to _interrogate_ him, unless he wanted to be), she felt that was unfair. If he didn't want to talk about Octavia, he didn't have to. She just wanted him to talk to her again, about anything.

"Hey," she said, nonchalantly, and not like she had a plan up her sleeve. "Are you busy?"

Bellamy stopped doing whatever he was in the process of doing as he came face to face with her, blinking as if he was coming out of a daze.

"Are you okay?" She asked, concerned.

"I was… looking for my jacket," he replied, staring at her in a way that made her self-conscious. Then she remembered.

"Oh," she blushed, looking down at the jacket in question, which she was currently wearing. "It was a little cold in here and I just saw it on the back of the chair here so I put it on and forgot I did. I'm sorry, I can take –" Clarke began to shrug the jacket off, but Bellamy waved his hand, a little frantically.

"No, no, no, it's fine. I don't – need it, I was just – wondering where it was. Keep it on – if, if you're cold, it's – yeah." Inexplicably, she blushed even more at his response. She started to, slowly, adjust the jacket so it sat on her shoulders again, giving him time to change his mind, but he didn't. He was looking down at the floor.

She had almost forgotten she had a plan, until he started moving and she intercepted his path. "Are you busy?"

"Why?"

"Let's go for a drive."

"Where to?"

"Nowhere. Just around."

"I don't know, I'm… there's some parts that need to be found, and Monty had a question about something I didn't get to talk to him about and…"

"Please? I think it'll be good – I've been a bit restless and we can't do anything until the team comes back from the reactor anyways and – I miss you." She said the last part with a frankness she didn't know she was capable of when she was talking about her feelings.

Bellamy looked like he wanted to object, but then his face softened and he smiled slightly. "I miss you too. Are you driving?"

"I _can_."

"You're terrible at it."

"How is it my fault when you gave up on me after an hour?"

"Clarke, you wouldn't use the brake. Ever."

"It didn't work!"

"Do you want to argue about this here or in the Rover?"

She rolled her eyes, but said, "Rover. I'll go tell everyone we'll be gone for a bit."

"Okay. Hey. Wait." She turned back. Bellamy was right there all of a sudden, fixing the collar of her (his) jacket. "Sorry, it was bothering me."

If she thought about it, she would say she nodded then, before walking out, but even then, she couldn't be sure. It was weird, how much that had thrown her off. Clarke noticed the looks she got as she walked to the garage, but no one said anything until Raven looked her up and down and smirked. "Nice jacket," she said with a raised eyebrow.

Clarke tucked her hands into the jacket's pockets and pulled it closer. "I was cold," she said.

"And your own jacket was out of the question?"

"I don't know where it is." It was only half true; it was somewhere in the apartment, but she had barely searched for it before she spotted Bellamy's. "Anyways. Is anyone taking the Rover today?"

"Not that I know – oh God. You're not driving again, are you?"

"I'm not that bad!"

"You nearly crashed into the gates."

"But I didn't." Raven tossed her the keys anyways.

"Just use the brake this time?"

"It didn't _work_ last time – no one believes me anyways," Clarke huffed, scowling.

"Don't worry. I'm driving. It's best for all of us," Bellamy said, appearing by her side at that moment and picking the keys out of her hand. "Ready?"

"Let's go."

Raven caught her arm before she got in the seat. "Have fun," she said, suggestively. Clarke swatted her away and hoped she wasn't blushing – or that Bellamy wouldn't notice she was blushing – when she closed the door.

For the first five minutes, neither of them said anything – but it was the kind of silence that held no expectations, discomfort, or tension. It was just nice. The scenery was nothing spectacular – they'd seen the same trees too many times for it to hold any novelty, but as they zipped by, there was almost a new light to them.

"Octavia doesn't want anything to do with me." Bellamy kept his voice light, but the forced strain to it – and the incongruence of his attitude with the statement he delivered – contradicted it. Clarke immediately turned to him, but he kept his eyes on the road, although he had slowed down, nearly to a stop.

"You don't have to talk about it," she said haltingly.

He laughed humorlessly. "Isn't that why you suggested this?"

She flushed. "No! I just wanted to talk – about anything, not this, not if you didn't want to."

"You're really not a good liar."

"You didn't have to come."

"I wanted to."

"Okay." And then, because it bothered her, "I'm a good liar."

He was skeptical. "Maybe to other people."

It satisfied her for the time being. "I mean it, though," she said, fidgeting in the seat. "You don't have to talk about it. I'm not trying to get anything out of you."

"I believe you." He sounded genuine – an actual genuineness and not the kind that people tried to affect. Bellamy stopped the Rover and turned the engine off. "We did find her. I told her about the nuclear radiation, I tried to talk her out of her – _job_ ," he spat the word out, "and she said she never wanted to see me again. So that's how it is." His knuckles had gone white, with how hard he was now gripping the steering wheel. Clarke reached forward, laying a hand on his closest one, which startled him slightly. His face slackened when he looked at her, but all she could see was how _sad_ he was, written plainly in his eyes. It was like he was grieving – and Clarke knew how to handle that.

She bit back the choice words she had about Octavia and laced their fingers together instead, holding on tightly as their linked hands dropped between them. It seemed to give him whatever he needed – support, comfort, courage, presence, whatever it was – to keep talking, and he did, telling her about the conversations he'd tried to have with his sister, and how she had yelled at him and screamed at him and tossed words that would be hard to take back (although she knew he would forgive her, no matter what), and about the guilt he felt for driving her toward this path. For her part, Clarke remained silent, knowing that what Bellamy wanted, what he needed, was to talk, without interruption. She squeezed his hand, and caressed it, and then, when he was done, she told him that Octavia would come back sooner or later, even though she only half believed it and almost didn't want it, for how badly his sister had hurt him. She hoped she was a good liar then.

They held hands until it was time to go back, and once she let go, she missed it a lot.

***

**IV.**

To his credit, Bellamy was able to refrain from comment for half an hour, as he glowered but remained tight lipped through her mom's own lecture, their friends' frantic concern, and the bandaging of her left shoulder. In a way, it was admirable how long he just _didn't_ say anything about her ill-thought out plan to confront the Ice Nation. (Because it had worked, she was able to admit it.) Maybe it helped that she had deliberately kept him in the dark about it until she was already approaching their army.

Still, the fury was unmistakable as he practically stomped beside her on their way back to the apartment, and if she had been able to ignore it, she certainly couldn't ignore the way he slammed the door shut.

Clarke sighed and counted to three. "Just say it."

"I've got nothing to say," he said, brushing past her to get to the kitchen, where he held onto the counter and stared at the wall. "You should get some sleep. Doctor's orders."

"I'm not really tired," she said, although she was. Acting as the decoy target really took a lot out of you.

"Oh? I would've thought that nearly _dying_ would be exhausting."

He was right, but she wasn't about to admit that. "I didn't nearly die," she said instead, picking at the hem of her shirt. Bellamy scoffed. "If you want to say something, just _say_ it. I'm too tired to deal with this passive aggressive thing you're doing."

"I thought you weren't tired."

"Well, I changed my mind," she snapped, glaring at his back. She knew where he was coming from, knew that it hadn't been a good idea in the first place, an even worse idea to keep it from him until it was too late, but all the Ice Nation had wanted was her – and they were running out of time and had nothing else in mind. If Bellamy wanted to tell her how stupid it was, she would let him, but not if he was going to pretend he wasn't mad while obviously _behaving_ like he was. Avoiding his glares in the medical ward was trouble enough. With a few muttered curses, she stalked off to her room, making sure she slammed the door shut with enough force that it would make him mad.

Clarke had barely taken off her jacket – his jacket, which Bellamy had draped over her shoulders before they left medical – and thrown it into a corner of her room (it crumpled up pathetically, mirroring her throw) before there were two short knocks on her door, followed by Bellamy storming inside. He glared at everything, as if everything had offended him, and barked, in a voice distorted by anger, "What were you thinking?"

She forced herself to stay calm when she answered him. "I was thinking I can take care of myself."

"On a suicide mission?"

"You're exaggerating. You don't need to breathe down my neck every time I do something you don't agree with, Bellamy."

"That's _not_ what this is."

"It sounds a lot like it!"

"It's about you constantly making these big decisions to put yourself in danger without –"

"It _WORKED_!"

"Oh, it _worked_? That's what you're going to go with? I shouldn't care that you _could've died_ –"

"I didn't die –"

"– and I wouldn't have known about it if that fucking guard hadn't accidentally let it slip because _apparently_ you made damn well sure that no one was supposed to tell me you were going to _sacrifice yourself_ instead –"

"Are you mad that I put myself in danger or that I didn't tell you about it first?" Clarke interrupted, exasperated. If she could move her shoulder, she would've waved both her arms around at that moment. The question seemingly caught Bellamy off guard and he faltered, stopping his next words as he gaped at her.

"Both," he said, stony and quiet, his eyes flashing with anger for a flickering moment before they dulled into a resignation that she hated seeing. Suddenly, the guilt she had suppressed during her planning, her pulling aside of the guards, of telling them to keep Bellamy away came crashing down on her. Dealing with Bellamy's protectiveness and worry was easy, if exhausting; she knew how to reassure him and she knew it didn't mean he thought she was incapable of defending herself or keeping herself safe. But working their way back to the equal partnership they'd shared before (just Before, she liked to call it) had been hard. It had been a lot of uneasy moments, a lot of hesitant questions and discomfort, a lot of rebuilding of that core faith and trust in each other. It was never said between them, but they had agreed to talk to each other first before big decisions.

"I…" she started, unsure. "I didn't – God, I didn't..." Now he was going to think that she didn't trust him, when it wasn't true at all. Of course she trusted him. There was no one she trusted more – no one she _cared_ about more –

"Clarke, you could've died and I wouldn't have known about it until it was too late," he said shakily, voice tight.

 _I wouldn't have died_ was screaming at her, but that was the least of her worries. "I know. I fucked up. I just… there's no good explanation for it. I just, I just knew how you would react and how you'd talk me out of it, and we _needed_ to do something and –" (desperately, shamefully,) "–it _worked_ , you know, so…"

Bellamy stared at her for a long time. He was searching for something but because she didn't know what it _was_ , she couldn't let him know that it was there, or that it wasn't. He scrubbed a hand over his face, looking exhausted. When she blinked next, he had moved to her bed, had already sat down on the edge. He looked down at his hands as he spoke. With the room so quiet, he sounded much more deafening than his volume indicated. "I wish you trusted me."

"I do!" Clarke was quick to say, practically hurtling over to her bed and sitting down next to him, trying to compel him to look at her. "It's not that I don't trust you – you're the only person I _do_ trust completely, all the time, without reserv–"

"You kept this from me and I don't know why –"

"Because I wasn't thinking, because –" she swallowed, but focused on his profile, because his eyes were still downcast, "It's still hard for me – trusting and working with someone, with you, again because of… everything. But I do trust you, I meant it when I said it the first time, and I've never believed in anything more than that."

He nodded.

"Please believe me."

"I'm trying." She was comforted that it hadn't been _no_ and that it hadn't been _I do_ , because that would've been him trying to stop the conversation. Trying was good. Trying, she knew how to handle.

"I should've told you."

"What if you had – _died_?" His voice broke on the last word and he was looking at her now, searching her face as if she wasn't really there in front of him.

"I'm here," she whispered firmly, lifting her right hand so she could cup his cheek, anchoring him. Her own eyes swept over his face, cataloguing the leftover scars, his freckles, the slight five o'clock shadow, the dimple on his chin (she hadn't been this close to him in – a while? She was having trouble thinking).

He closed his eyes and sighed, the battle trailing away. "How's your shoulder?"

"It hurts," she admitted, and he looked pained. "But I've had worse."

He gave her a stern look and she smiled at him. "You should get some sleep."

Her traitorous body gave in and she yawned, as if on cue. Bellamy chuckled and got up, gesturing for her to move along. She did, but only because she didn't want to fight about this anymore. (And she was tired.) Before she lifted the covers up, she looked back at him, hesitant.

"What?"

"Are – are we good?"

He walked closer until he was right there, beside her, tugging the covers up. "Next time," (like it pained him), "If you have another _terrible_ plan to use yourself as bait, will you tell me about it first?"

"I–"

"I know you can take care of yourself," he continued hastily. "I know I'm… _protective_ –"

"I'll try really hard to avoid these sorts of plans in the future, but I promise I won't hide them from you anymore."

It happened fast, just a quick forward movement of his head as he pressed a kiss to her temple, and she swore he blushed as he moved back. Or maybe she was projecting. "Get some sleep," he said, but he had a soft smile, an encouraging one, that made her heart beat a little faster.

Clarke got into her bed, gingerly to keep the pressure away from her shoulder, and then finally settling into the position. It wasn't the best, but it was better than sleeping in poorly made tents at the dropship site. They both looked at each other for a moment, with neither of them knowing where to go from here, and Clarke chased the impulse that had just taken over. "Bellamy?"

"Yeah?"

"You could stay," she said shyly.

"Oh. Here? With – here?"

"Just… for a while? Until I fall asleep? You don't have to, I just –"

"No, no, I'll stay," he said, tentatively sitting on the edge of the bed beside her, his hands awkwardly left in his lap.

With neither of them knowing what to do next, she ended up staring at the ceiling as she wracked her brain. They weren't known for not being able to talk to each other.

"Did you hear about Miller and Bryan's anniversary plans?"

She laughed, relieved. "I didn't know Miller was that much of a romantic."

"He spent a long time planning it too…"

\---

When Clarke woke up a few hours later, it was to an aching shoulder and a Bellamy that had somehow found a way to fit on the tiny bed, his arm draped over her waist. The last thing she remembered before drifting asleep was Bellamy curling up more comfortably next to her, an arm above her head and his voice murmuring something – a story about something she couldn't recall. Shaking away the grogginess, she blinked away the sleep and found her vision coming in clearer.

He had switched on the lamp next to them, she realized. That was where the dim light was coming from. And even in this lighting, Bellamy looked beautiful, a fact that she accepted easily, but always seemed to surprise her when she really thought about it. And when she turned, just slightly, so she was just inches away from his face, she finally let herself, for the first time, think about what it would be like if she kissed him.

There had been other moments – few and far in between, but moments nonetheless – where she had had the opportunity, or at least the opportunity to _think_ about the possibility, but she always shut it down quickly, out of guilt (because of herself, because of Lexa, because she didn't want to put Bellamy through that), or the sense that she hadn't really been _serious_ about it. But right now, surrounded by his warmth and comfort and a tranquil silence she used to fear, but had come to appreciate, Clarke thought that it would be nice to kiss Bellamy Blake, to feel him smile against her lips, to have his eyelashes flutter against her skin, to have his hand curl around her hip because he _wanted_ her.

Bellamy shifted in his sleep and she squeezed her eyes shut. She held her breath for a moment, but when she determined that he was still asleep, she opened one eye and smiled.

 _Maybe later_ , she thought, before she fell back asleep, snuggled close against Bellamy's chest.

***

**V.**

The apartment was crowded, but that was to be expected when trying to fit eight people in a space that would accommodate – at the most – five. They all worked in silence, out of a shared sense of nervousness at what they were about to do and what might happen, rather than out of necessity. Clarke handed a radio to Bellamy, who pocketed it, and then tossed his jacket at him. He raised an eyebrow ( _You don't want it?_ ), so she shook her head. Accepting it, he shrugged it on hastily and turned to address their friends.

"Everyone ready?" Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the collar of his jacket folded under, and reached over to fix it, smoothing it down and smiling back at him. It made her feel guilty immediately: smiling before they were off on a life threatening mission felt wrong.

"You're not going to give one of your speeches right now, are you?" Miller asked, skeptically.

Bellamy, clearly getting ready to give one of his speeches, shut his mouth and glared. Clarke laughed, patting his back soothingly before clearing her throat.

"Let's go," she said, nodding at everyone in turn – from Monty, to Raven, Harper, Jasper, Miller, and Bryan, who all wore similar grim expressions. "If we get this done, it'll be the last reactor. We'll be safe." Even saying it loud sounded hollow. _Safe_ wasn't necessarily a word she believed in anymore.

"I don't understand why we have to be so secretive about it," Jasper complained. "Did we _try_ explaining –"

"We've tried everything," Bellamy explained in exasperation. "The council isn't happy with the chances and would like to look into another option."

"And there are no other options," Clarke said. "Unless you want to die." That shut him up.

"Okay, then. Remember the exits, remember the staggering. Meet around the back, then head for the Rover. If anything goes wrong, radio us."

"We've gone through this at least a dozen times," Raven reminded, irritated, but she nodded at them and left first. Every five minutes, someone followed, until it was just Bellamy and Clarke left. While the former was boring holes into the clock above the door, she was doing the same with the radio in her hand. Eventually, it got to be too much and she sucked in a breath and found Bellamy's attention turned on her. He was looking at her thoughtfully, as if she puzzled him, and it unnerved her a bit.

"What?" She asked, cocking her head to the side.

"Nothing," he said, but he still had that look on his face. "Your mom's going to be furious when she wakes up."

The thought of that made her smile. "Like that wasn't an ulterior motive of yours when we came up with this plan."

The corner of his mouth quirked up and automatically, her eyes strayed down for a second or two. It was really becoming a habit.

Bellamy's voice interrupted her shameless staring. "It's her fault for not trusting us."

"She's not known for that."

"Like you haven't proven yourself worthy enough," he scoffed.

"Or you," she quickly reminded him. "And everyone else too."

"Well, maybe the last thing we get to do will finally earn that coveted trust." She recognized that tone – a forced humor – and made herself laugh quietly, even as she wondered the same thing.

She couldn't take it anymore, quickly making her way to Bellamy and wrapping her arms around him, resting her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. This time, Bellamy didn't hesitate before hugging her back, rubbing her back, murmuring, "I know," against her hair.

"What if we don't get it done?"

"We will."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because you aren't and one of us has to be."

"That's not funny."

"I wasn't really aiming for funny."

"Maybe we shouldn't be doing this."

"A bit too late to say that now."

"We could call everyone back."

"That'd be so much hassle. They're already ready to leave."

"It's just –"

"Clarke," Bellamy said, untangling himself from their hug. "Stop it."

"I can't!" A panicked quality crept into her voice. "It's just happening and I can't stop it! I keep thinking about how this'll all go wrong and that we're bringing too many people and that's not even touching the fact that we could _di_ –"

"Clarke," he repeated, cutting the rest of her frantic speech off with his hands, which were now holding her face, gently but firmly. His face was close, and getting closer, as he locked eyes with her. She could practically hear her heart beating and her ears getting warm. And, though she tried, she couldn't help but look at his mouth. She couldn't help but lean forward, higher, her own hands finding the front of his jacket and latching on.

"Bellamy," she said, a little stupidly breathless. She pulled on his jacket, infinitesimally. He came closer. "If we don't…" Bellamy had nice eyes, she thought, but she couldn't read them just now. "...Don't make it out of this, I don't…" Clarke was so close now that if she just moved an inch forward, she could finally stop talking and finally stop thinking and finally kiss him.

It made perfect sense that the radio in his pocket and a staticy, _Check in_ , would choose that instant to ruin her plans. His hand dropped from her face and grabbed the radio.

"On our way," he muttered into the speaker. Clarke stepped back, hands shaking, and laughed halfheartedly.

"Five minutes, huh?"

"We'll – we'll talk about this after," he said, asked, wondered.

She nodded and, before she could talk herself out of it, rose up to press a quick kiss on his mouth. Blushing, and aware that they couldn't stay any longer, she grabbed his hand and tugged him out the door.

***

**\+ VI.**

She had meant to stop by the party, even if she only planned on lingering in the background and getting a drink or two, but then her mom waylaid her for a long lecture (that she only half-listened to and then forced an end to with a hug and a "You're _welcome_ ") and after that, Clarke only wanted to take a shower and fall asleep. There would be more parties. It wasn't every day that you averted a nuclear catastrophe.

She would talk to Bellamy tomorrow because (and she smiled at the thought) they had all the time in the world now.

When she turned the corner, she smiled even more. Bellamy was sitting in front of their apartment door, legs outstretched and drink cup by his side.

"Hey," she said, casually even as her heart rate picked up and she felt more nervous with each step. In the midst of the mission, the close calls, the near death disasters, and the thrill of success, Clarke had pushed what happened just a few days before to the back of her mind. Now, it came rushing back, with the hasty kiss she'd given him at the forefront.

The smile he gave her did a lot to temper her nerves. It was genuine, and bright, and soft. "I thought you'd be at the party."

"Me? At a party? You're thinking of a different Clarke Griffin."

"The fun one."

"Both Clarke Griffins are fun, the other one just likes parties more." She sat down beside him, close enough that their arms brushed against each other. "Hi."

"Hi. How mad is your mom?"

"About a three. It helps that our plan worked."

"How mad is she at me?"

Clarke laughed. "She's always sitting at a general six with you."

"I'll take it."

"Why aren't you at the party?"

"It was a little overwhelming. Thought I'd come sit down for a bit."

"With me."

"I sat down first."

"But still. With me."

"Yes," he said, with a laugh. "With you." Bellamy was quiet for a second. "You sound different."

She raised an eyebrow. "How?"

"Different, happy." He thought about it. "Good," he clarified.

He was right, like he always was with her. She felt lighter, somehow. "I think I am," she said, almost in wonder. "I think I'm letting myself enjoy this moment."

"The saving the world moment?"

"Yeah. I guess it feels nice."

He snorted. "You guess."

"Tomorrow, someone could walk up to the gates and tell us some new clan wants to kill us."

"Perspective."

"But it's not today and I'm happy." It still sounded strange, _happy_. She couldn't remember when she'd last thought about happiness. "Are you? Happy?" She waited for his answer, but he didn't answer for a long minute.

Then: "I think I will be."

She didn't say anything, didn't need to, but nudged his knee. He bumped hers in return. It didn't escape her attention that they were both ignoring something.

With a deep breath, she steeled herself. "I almost lost you today."

He had the decency to wince. "Someone had to –"

"I know. You know I know that. It _sucks_ , but I know that's who you are and that's who I am, and we probably can't change that. But you were _stuck_ in there and no one was _saying_ it, but they thought you were going to die, and I was just so –" her voice hitched and she willed herself not to cry, although it was hard, because she remembered the feeling so vividly, and the memory of _waiting_ , and _waiting_ , and hearing Bellamy's panicked voice, then resigned voice, and finally, the _I'm okay_ as he fell into her arms. "I was so _mad_ at you!" He looked alarmed at this. Before he said anything, she continued, "I kept thinking, god, I just kept thinking, and it was so stupid, really, I'm so – I kept thinking, _I can't believe Bellamy's going to die and I didn't_ really  _kiss him_!"

HIs voice cracked. "Re-really?"

"Isn't it stupid?" She sniffed and rubbed her nose.

"No. When I was in there – I thought of you too." He had the look in his eyes, but it wasn't a mystery this time. She knew this look because she had seen it numerous times before, times when she had tucked it away and pretended she never understood what it said and what it meant.

She didn't dwell on it any longer, just leaned forward and kissed him – _again_ , technically, but she thought of it as the first – to let him know what she thought about _that_. He surprised her and laughed into her mouth, before drawing her closer, one hand suddenly on the back of her neck, while her hand was tangled at the back of his hair. Bellamy kissed like he had waited a long time to kiss her, and that made her slow down the kiss, so they could both take their time with it. She thought she could kiss Bellamy forever.

When they had to stop, she was flushed, her hair a mess, and her lips swollen. She had to stop herself from smiling so widely. "Want to go inside?"

"Where?" She laughed and kissed him again, harder this time, pulling on his bottom lip and making him groan against her mouth.

"To our _apartment_ , Bellamy."

"Our apartment that we live in."

"Our apartment that we live in."

He tucked her hair behind her ear and then stood up, extending his hand for her. She took it. "Let's go."

Clarke buried her face into his jacket as he tugged her inside, pressing her against the door as it closed. "What if someone knocked on our door and told us they were declaring war on us tomorrow?"

"Then we deal with that tomorrow," Bellamy said, before ducking down to kiss her neck.

“Sounds good.”

**Author's Note:**

> Alas, my goal of avoiding all Grounder terms and fake language was foiled, but I tried REALLY, REALLY HARD.
> 
> You can find me at [bestivals](http://bestivals.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


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